by Judy Nunn
‘It’s nice to see you again, Gene,’ Kathleen shook his hand warmly. ‘I owe you an apology, you were right about Stefan.’
‘I know, I heard.’ Confused by the warmth of his reception, Gene wondered whether she knew it was he who’d reported Brandt; she certainly couldn’t know that he’d also reported her as a possible accessory.
‘You thought my Gran was a spy, didn’t you?’ said Caroline, embarrassing him. ‘That’s what the police told us.’
‘Caroline, stop it,’ Kathleen ordered.
‘They interrogated us for hours,’ she continued, ignoring the admonishment, aware of Gene’s discomfort. She didn’t intend to be cruel, but he should have come to see them at the time, she thought, so she decided to make him squirm, just for a moment. ‘We only got off the hook because we had Tim Kendall for a character witness.’
‘Gene, sit down, please,’ Kathleen interrupted.
‘Kendall Markets, do you know them?’ Caroline asked.
‘Of course,’ Gene nodded.
‘He’s my godfather, Tim Kendall, the police were very impressed.’
‘Would you like some tea?’ Kathleen asked. It was time for Caroline to shut up, she’d had her fun.
‘I’m sorry.’ Gene directed his apology to Kathleen. ‘I didn’t intend to cause trouble.’
‘Of course you didn’t,’ she said. Of course he did, she thought. If he’d suspected her, as he obviously had, then his very intention had been to cause trouble. And so it should have been. ‘You did the right thing, now sit down and I’ll get you some tea.’
‘What about a beer instead?’ Caroline suggested and, before he could answer, she’d fetched a bottle from the icebox.
Gene didn’t much like Australian beer, he was a bourbon man himself. But he drank the beer, and joined in the conversation and, to hisamazement, an hour later, the three of them were laughing about the fact that he’d thought Kathleen might have been a spy. This Aussie beer had quite an effect after all, he realised, feeling rather light-headed and enjoying the women’s company, but most particularly Caroline’s.
Gene had chosen to spend his furloughs in Brisbane over the past eighteen months. He’d even had an affair with a girl there. Convinced that he would no longer be welcome in the De Haan household, he had decided to put Caroline O’Shea out of his mind. But it had been impossible. And when he’d found himself posted to Sydney he hadn’t been able to resist visiting the little old house in Woolloomooloo.
And now here she was, enchanting him once more with her beauty, delighting him all over again with her candour and earthy humour. How could he ever have thought he could put such a creature out of his mind? Gene Hamilton was more smitten than ever. In fact, he had to admit it, he was head over heels in love.
‘How long are you on leave, Gene?’ Caroline asked, hoping it would be long enough for him to ask her out, she’d forgotten how attractive he was.
‘Well, I’m not actually. I’m on secondment to the Aussies.’
‘Oh?’
‘Which means I’m in Sydney for a month.’
‘Oh.’
‘Would you like to go out to dinner? Or the theatre maybe?’ Then he recalled that she didn’t like being seen out alone with a Yank, so he quickly added, ‘or we could go to The Trocadero with your friend … er …’
‘Ada?’
‘Yeah, Ada, that’s right. We could go dancing with Ada.’
‘I think dinner would be nice.’ Caroline was less self-conscious these days. The Yanks had been in town for so long now that people accepted Aussie girls in their company. Besides, dinner with the urbane American would make a welcome change from the Saturday arvo pictures with Ada’s big brother Brian.
‘How about tonight?’
‘Why not?’ she grinned.
They dined out that night, and when he brought her home, he kissed her on the lips. Chastely, his hands resting gently on her shoulders, resisting the urge to take her in his arms and feel her body against his.
‘Sunday, tomorrow,’ he said, ‘would you like to go out for the day? I could hire a car. Adrive into the countryside maybe?’ He was rushing her, he knew it, she wouldn’t wish to spend the whole weekend in his company, but he didn’t want her out of his sight, he’d spend every minute with her if he possibly could.
‘How about the beach? We could go to Bondi.’
‘No taxis, Gene,’ she said the following morning, and she took his hand as they walked up William Street. ‘Everybody catches the Bondi tram, it’s what going to the beach is all about.’
She was right, Gene thought, as the tram turned the corner and he caught his first sight of Bondi Beach. The broad sweep of sandy bay and rocky headland was spectacular viewed from the front seat of the tram which rattled down the hill at an alarming speed.
He was a good swimmer, she noted, admiring his athleticism from the distant safety of her deckchair up near the sea-wall. Caroline enjoyed the beach, but was no water baby, preferring to plonk herself in the ocean every now and then simply in order to cool off.
She studied him more closely as he started to run up the beach towards her. Naturally olive-skinned, his body was as tanned as his face. Broad-shouldered, slim-hipped, his was the physique of a soldier, fit and well toned. She closed her eyes as he joined her.
‘That was fantastic,’ he said, sprawling panting and soaking wet in the sand, ‘absolutely fantastic.’
‘Oh you’re back,’ she opened her eyes, ‘I must have dozed off. Don’t you want a towel?’ She leaned down to pull a towel from the bag.
‘No, I like the feel of hot sand on my skin, I’ll rinse it off later.’
They bought icecreams and ate them sitting on the stone steps which led down to the beach, gazing out over the endless hordes of sunworshippers burning to a crisp in the baking-hot summer afternoon. Then they had a dip together, Caroline allowing herself to be teased out of her depth in order to feel Gene’s body against hers as he supported her in the water.
After they’d dried off and dressed in their respective changing rooms at the Pavilion, they walked hand in hand up the grassy knoll towards Campbell Parade where they sat in the corner shop eating pies and watching the passers-by promenade in the cool of the late afternoon, the breeze whisking in from the sea.
‘Would you like to come in for a cup of tea?’ Caroline asked when they returned home in the early dusk. ‘Or a coffee, or a beer?’
‘No thanks,’ Gene said. ‘I’m still carrying a bit of sand around, think I’ll go back to the hotel and clean up.’ Much as he enjoyed Kathleen De Haan’s company he didn’t think he could bear to share Caroline with anyone. Not right now. Not after the day they’d had. ‘It was a perfect day, Caroline.’ It seemed natural to take her in his arms.
‘Yes it was.’ She responded wholeheartedly to his kiss until, aware of their conspicuousness on Kathleen’s front porch, she drew away, a little out of breath.
‘May I call on you Tuesday? Dinner? The theatre?’
‘Whatever,’ Caroline said, ‘Tuesday’d be beaut.’
She closed the door behind her, then opened it to watch him striding off down the street. She had been taken aback by her response. Did it happen as quickly as this? Was she falling in love with the man, she wondered as she relished the tingle of sea salt on her skin, her body felt so alive.
Three weeks later she had no doubts whatsoever. She was desperately in love with Gene Hamilton. And he with her, she knew it. If he’d asked her to go back to his hotel room she would have agreed. But he didn’t. He always kissed her goodnight on the front porch, both of them by now fully aware of the other’s desire. But never once did he suggest they go to his hotel.
Gene was in a dilemma. He knew full well that Caroline would sleep with him, but he’d already made one terrible mistake. Less than two months ago, the girl in Brisbane with whom he’d been having an affair had fallen pregnant. They’d been careful, as careful as they could be, but it had happened. He’d given the girl enough m
oney for a proper abortion by a qualified medical doctor. A number of general practitioners were carrying out the illegal procedure and it cost ten times as much as a backstreet job, but at least it was safe, most of the time.
He’d breathed a sigh of relief when all had gone smoothly, but he’d felt riddled with guilt nonetheless. Abortion went directly against his Wesleyan Methodist upbringing, but at least he’d been honest. He’d never told the girl that he loved her, he’d never promised he’d marry her and take her to America like many of his friends had told their Australian girls. And when she’d become pregnant, he hadn’t lied and told her he’d come back for her and the baby. He’d been honest he’d told himself over and over, but it hadn’t made him feel any better.
And now here was Caroline, willing to give herself to him, and he loved her deeply. Of course he would marry her in a second, he only wished that he could. But that wouldn’t solve the dilemma at all. He was leaving shortly on active service. After Guadalcanal Gene knew exactly what to expect. It was quite likely he would not return. What if Caroline was left with a child? What kind of life was that to wish upon the woman he loved?
Each time he kissed her goodnight, Gene struggled with his passion and his conscience, and each time his conscience won out. He would not risk destroying her.
‘Where is it you’re going to?’ she asked the Sunday before he left. It was a balmy night and they were sitting on the back porch. Kathleen, having cooked one of her stews, had discreetly retired early to leave them together.
‘Oh, you don’t need to know that,’ he answered casually as though it really didn’t matter, and she realised that she should have known better than to have asked. He never spoke about military matters. In fact he rarely even spoke about the war.
‘What’s the point?’ he’d say, ‘we’ve just got to get through it and one day it’ll all be over.’ So they’d talk about their respective childhoods instead, asking endless questions, each wanting to know everything about the other.
As only children they’d both had lonely childhoods, they discovered.
‘Gran’s been everything to me,’ Caroline told him. ‘Mother, father, best friend. When I was about fifteen she told me my mother was still alive, said if I wanted to meet her she’d try and find out where she was.’
‘And did you?’
‘Nope. I decided if my mother didn’t want to know me then I didn’t want to know her.’
‘We’re two of a kind then, my mom didn’t want to know me either.’
‘At least you were brought up with a silver spoon,’ Caroline laughed. ‘Posh boarding schools and riding camps. Your own car when you were eighteen! My God, what a Woolloomooloo boy wouldn’t have given for that.’
‘I’d’ve swapped them all for someone like your gran.’
‘Yep, you’re right, I’m lucky.’
Gene’s father had been a racing car driver, and as a boy Gene had been left in boarding school whilst his mother accompanied the famous Brad Hamilton on the international circuit, from one Grand Prix to the next.
‘I idolised my father,’ Gene said. ‘He was every boy’s hero. Taught me how to drive when I was ten. I was racing as an amateur at Indianapolis when I was eighteen. All my buddies were envious, they wanted a dad like mine. Course I didn’t dare tell them that I never really knew him. The only thing we shared was a love of racing cars.
‘But then,’ Gene shrugged, ‘I can’t hold that against him, I guess it’s all he had to offer. I was twenty-one when he died. A crash in the Indy 500. Killed instantly. Mom went to pieces for a while, then she took up with a buddy of Dad’s, another driver, and she was back following the circuit again. So I finished my engineering course at Harvard and joined the army. I had to get away from home and I figured the marines sounded pretty adventurous.’
‘Caroline,’ he said now as they sat on the porch and he took her hand in both of his, ‘I love you, you know that don’t you?’
‘Yes.’
‘And you love me too.’
‘Yes.’
It hadn’t been a question, he knew that she loved him, but the simplicity of her reply and the fervour in her eyes thrilled him beyond measure.
‘When the war’s over, will you marry me?’
‘Yes.’
They stood and embraced and, returning hiskiss, her body responded alarmingly as it did these days at his very touch.
‘Gene,’ she whispered as their mouths parted, ‘if you want to …’
‘We leave on Tuesday,’ he said brusquely, ‘but I won’t see you tomorrow, there’s a lot to be done, so I’ll say my goodbyes now.’
‘Oh.’ She quelled the sick feeling in her stomach, she hadn’t known it was so soon. ‘Sometime next week,’ that’s what he’d said. ‘I don’t suppose you know how long you’ll be gone?’ she asked, trying to sound as matter of fact as she could.
‘No.’
‘Godspeed then.’
He nodded and left abruptly before she could see him to the front door.
It turned out to be three months. Three months, one week and two days to be precise. Caroline had counted.
She met his train at Central Station and, after escaping the swarming crowds on the railway platform, they stood outside trying to hail a taxi. In the teeming rain it was impossible.
‘It’s been raining for days,’ she yelled above the din and clamour of people yelling for taxis and cars honking their horns, ‘it always does in April.’
But they didn’t care. Gene gave up trying to get a cab and they gave up trying to keep dry. They clung to each other in the pouring rain and kissed and laughed for pure joy. Then Gene shouldered his backpack and they walked through the deluge, his arm around her, rivulets of water cascading from her best felt hat, now soggy and ruined.
They dined that night at the Roosevelt—for old times’ sake, he said, and she remembered the night they’d first met, as she peered over the balcony railing at the couples on the dance floor below.
Caroline launched into her attack just after the steaks had arrived. ‘You asked me to marry you, right?’ she demanded.
‘And you said yes.’ Those compelling brown eyes with their depth of seriousness and theirhint of laughter were mesmerising him. God, but it was wonderful to be with her again.
‘I did,’ she affirmed, nodding briskly. ‘After the war, that’s what you said.’
‘Correct.’
‘Well I’m reneging on the offer, it’s not good enough.’
‘Oh?’ He wanted to laugh, she delighted him so.
‘Now, Gene.’ The banter was gone. ‘Marry me now.’
He looked down at the steak on his plate, it was suddenly unappetising. How could he tell her what he’d been through? How could he explain that it would happen again before the war was over? Again he’d watched his comrades die and each moment of each day he’d wonder if he was the next in line.
‘Caroline,’ he said haltingly, ‘when I go away …’
‘I know.’
‘If I don’t come back …’
‘I know that too. Let’s risk it, Gene. I’m willing if you are, in fact I’ll go mad if we don’t.’ He looked up from the steak he’d been toying with. Her eyes were begging him. ‘Please,’ she said, ‘please marry me.’
‘When?’
‘Now. Right now.’ She grinned. ‘You’re not enjoying that steak anyway. We’ll bash on somepriest’s door and make him marry us in the middle of the night with two witnesses we’ve grabbed off the street, just like they do in the movies.’
He laughed, he couldn’t help it. ‘Oh no we won’t, we’ll do it the proper way.’
‘What way’s that?’
‘With my Commanding Officer’s permission and your grandmother’s blessing.’
A week later Caroline O’Shea married Gene Hamilton in the Registry Office of Births, Deaths and Marriages and their witnesses were Kathleen De Haan and Ada Bird.
Any lingering misgivings Kathleen might have harboured disapp
eared as she watched them exchange vows. They were so deeply in love it would have been wrong if they’d not married, and she prayed that Gene would return unscathed from the war.
Ada wept throughout the short service. Caroline looked so beautiful and Gene so handsome. Fancy Caroline marrying a Yank, how adventurous of her.
Ada had changed her opinions about the Yanks since she’d met her GI, Pete. Pete wasn’t just for good times and presents, Pete was mad about her. He hadn’t lost interest when she’d refused to sleep with him. In fact he wanted to marry her, to take her to America after the war and have a big white wedding with his family. Ada hadn’t seriously considered marriage, however, he was a Yank after all. But if Caroline was marrying a Yank, then why shouldn’t she? She’d always followed Caroline’s example, right from when she’d enrolled in Stott’s Secretarial College. Marriage to Pete suddenly held a strong appeal, he’d be home on leave in a month, she’d give it some serious thought.
‘I now pronounce you man and wife.’
Ada burst into fresh tears as Gene kissed his new bride.
Gene had hired a suite at the Hotel Australia and they barely left the bedroom for the entire week of their honeymoon.
‘What a terrible waste of money,’ Caroline said, surveying the spacious sitting room and balcony. So he made love to her then and there on the floor.
‘Shall we try the balcony next?’ he said, when she lay sated in his arms, and she gave one of her wicked gurgles of laughter. An hour later he took her back into the bedroom, he wouldn’t put it past Caroline to take him up on his suggestion.
Then the week was over and Gene was gone. She didn’t ask him where he was going or for how long, she was a soldier’s wife now and knew better. And she didn’t cry or allow her fear to show. She simply said ‘Godspeed my love.’
Caroline knew from the moment she saw Ada’s face that Ada was no longer a virgin. Gone was the giggling coquette, she was glowing with womanly fulfilment. ‘You slept with Pete, didn’t you?’ True to form Caroline jumped straight to the point.
‘Yes.’ Ada couldn’t wait to admit it, she desperately needed to tell someone, and Caroline was her only possible confidante. She knew that Bev and Enid slept with men, they openly discussed it, and she’d sometimes felt jealous of them, wondering what it would be like. She was nearly twenty-six years old, it was high time she lost her virginity. But, now that it had happened, she couldn’t tell Bev and Enid about Pete, they wouldn’t understand. ‘Oh Caroline, it was wonderful,’ she said. ‘I love him so much, and I know he loves me.’
